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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652081">i'll look to you with an extended hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/catgirlnya/pseuds/catgirlnya'>catgirlnya</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fluff, M/M, episode 20 didn't happen so i wrote this, it was awful, like i literally fucking can't with the final</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:42:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/catgirlnya/pseuds/catgirlnya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>dean reunites with castiel when he arrives in heaven. they go on a drive.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'll look to you with an extended hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>not me writing fanfiction instead of working on my nanowrimo novel, no sir,,,</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Heaven is a breath of fresh air. Dean feels lighter the moment he opens his eyes, like the weight of the world is finally, <em> finally </em>, off his shoulders. The first time he inhales is a relief. He can do it without a piece of rusty metal lodging itself deeper into his back, piercing his lungs. The first time he exhales is like a dream. There’s nothing dripping down the curve of his spine or pooling at his feet, nothing looming dreadfully over his head. He’s free. </p><p>He’s on a porch. The planks creak when he takes a step. The air smells of pine and a lingering storm. Shadows are strung across the clearing from trees reaching towards the sky, reaching towards oblivion (Dean wonders which memory this is… he can’t place a finger on it. He knows it’s familiar, he can feel it in his gut—it coils, it burns, but not unpleasantly). </p><p>“Hello, Dean.” </p><p>He turns around before the voice can even register—he knows it, he knows it too well. <em> Which memory is this? </em> he thinks again, racking his mind for a time he ever felt this kind of peace. </p><p>“Cas,” he breathes out. He’s sitting there on the porch, a silhouette against the sun. There’s a glowing sign by his face casting light on his skin—neon lights that rally shadows across his cheekbones when he smiles. He’s not wearing his iconic trenchcoat; instead, a collared shirt, three of the buttons undone (Dean catches a glimpse of Cas’s neck, Cas’s bare skin. If this is heaven, then it should be free of trauma, unscarred and smooth, the complexion of a ghost in his happiest memories. He doesn’t stare at Cas’s collarbone, nor does he trace his gaze across it until it dips back under his shirt. He doesn’t). “Is this—”</p><p>“Heaven, yes. Jack and I made a few… adjustments to it.” He avoids his eye.</p><p>It dawns on him. Dean scratches his head and scans the area again. There was still something whimsical about it. “This isn’t a memory?”</p><p>“As I said,” he says with a small smile playing on his lips, “a few adjustments.”</p><p>Something like nervousness lodges itself in Dean’s throat. “So you… you’re…” He waves a hand vaguely around, gesturing to Cas. His words die out on his lips. </p><p>“I’m me, yes.” He sounds amused. “I know… well, everything. I watched you after Jack got me out. He told me about how you went up against God.” His tone dips a little at the end, wavering on a broken line that neither of them know how to cross. They’re both thinking of the same thing, but saying it out loud would throw their relationship out of balance, and wasn’t it nice to be somewhere so familiar and lukewarm, just for a little while, just this once? Dean thought he deserved it after everything… so why was he unsatisfied?</p><p>“Jack brought you back?” Dean asked. He had thought about it. He’d thought about begging Jack to bring Cas back—hell, he would have gone on his knees if it meant seeing him one more time. But again, there was that line, that dangerous line that was fragile enough before Cas shattered it with three simple words. Dean didn’t know if he was ready.</p><p>And now he was here, four words at the tip of his tongue (but would they ever be released from the prison that held his emotions, get past the metaphorical muzzle over his mouth?).</p><p>“He did. Right after he became God, but I didn’t… I didn’t think you’d want to see me, after everything that happened.”</p><p>“After you sacrificed yourself to save me,” Dean deadpans. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”</p><p>“Dean—” Cas shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I meant what I said, you know… I meant it romantically.” When Dean doesn’t say anything, he continues to ramble, “Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to, but if you could just… acknowledge my feelings, then that would be appreciated.” </p><p>He still doesn’t say anything, and Cas doesn’t meet his eye. Dean takes a couple of steps forward and sinks onto the seat next to him. It’s more comfortable than a wooden chair should be, but this is heaven, it’s made for comfort (although evidently, that doesn’t stop uncomfortable conversations from happening). He reaches over and picks up a beer from the cooler between them. “Cas… you know me. I’m not good at… feelings.” </p><p>Cas smiles sadly. “I know. You don’t have to be. I apologize if I put you in an awkward position.” </p><p>Dean pops off the cap of his beer and takes a long swig. The world settles into silence. The leaves stir when the wind picks up. It should be awkward, yet it’s anything but.</p><p>Then the silence, as many things are, is broken by Dean. “Let’s go on a drive.” </p><p>Cas eyes him wearily. “Right now?”</p><p>“Why not? We have all the time in the world, don’t we?” </p><p>“It seems we do.” They mirror each other, smile at each other, put their empty bottles down at the same time and stand up. </p><p>The car is right there by the porch, waiting patiently to be driven. Dean gets in first; Cas hesitates. “Are you sure?” he asks. Dean smiles, peeks up at him from the driver’s seat. </p><p>“Cas. We’ve known each other for years. Damn right I’m sure.”</p><p>So Cas gets into the car, and the engine purrs to life. Dean, upon hearing it, breaks out into laughter, gingerly grazing the steering wheel with his finger tips. “Oh, Baby, I’ve missed you.”</p><p><br/>“Strange, that your car made it to heaven. It was here when I came, you know?” Cas states, clicking on his seatbelt. Dean’s smile doesn’t waver. </p><p>“Did you take her out on a drive?” </p><p>“I was waiting for you. You don’t like other people touching your Baby.”</p><p><br/>“Oh Cas,” Dean says flippantly, “You don’t count as other people. You’re more than that.” Then he ducks his head and puts the gear on drive. “You can drive her any time. As long as you keep her safe, of course, but I trust you.”</p><p>Cas doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t have to.</p><p>They ride. Dean slowly accelerates, slowly pushes down on the gas until the trees blur by like watercolours on a canvas, bleeding into the background of a capricious woodland scene. They roll down the windows and the wind tousels their hair. It’s not surprising that their ears remain un-popped, for this is heaven. A fantasy, a dream. There are no little vexations to worry about. </p><p>Cas lets his hand linger on the edge of his seat. Dean does the same, keeping one hand on the wheel. Their knuckles bump together softly at every pothole. Their fingertips circulate body heat. They’re not quite holding hands, not quite even touching. They’re driving along a path with no destination; they’re dead, but it doesn’t feel like they’re anything but alive. It’s odd, maybe. A human and an angel. Partners. Lovers. Knuckles knocking together perhaps more often than they should, stolen glances, a peaceful kind of silence, a world that’s their own. It’s enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title is lyrics from 'us' by the accidentals. thanks sky.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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